And her thoughts, I know, as free,

As the breeze that plays around her brow— Does she then e'er think of me?

When she recurs to scenes that are passed,
And sunny days that are o'er,

To pleasures that have come and gone,
And joys that will come no more;
And pensive thought steals o'er her mind,
If pensive ever she be,

It would be a precious boon to know,
Whether she thinks of me.

Youthful days are hurrying away,
And ere long she'll be the wife
Of one whom fortune delights to crown
With too precious gifts for life.

But while I live, I will think of her,

And a dear assurance 'twould be,

To know that in her pure, spotless heart, She treasures a thought for me.

1859.

LINES,

Written on a leaf of a male friend's Album. Although the days sometimes be dark

When the gloom of care comes o'er me,

And sorrows oft may chill my soul,
And wild deserts lie before me;

Yet still as free

My heart shall be,

To feel for those who love me,

Still wishes true,

I'll keep for you,

Whatever sky's above me.

You're not so fair, Bill, by more than half. As my lovely little charmer,

Who wears a smile, that-I'll say no more May naught on earth e'er harm her! Yet you've a soul,

However droll,

That's made to suit my pleasure,

And while you live,

May fortune give

You joys beyond all measure.

They who have bowed at beauty's shrine,
Have learned it to their sorrow,
That flowers to-day, which seem so gay,
Are doomed to fade to-morrow.
That cares will blight
The dream so bright,
Inspired by beauty's power;

And charms so rare,

Most surely are

But plants of a passing hour.

But I hope that for all time to come,

Our friendship ne'er will sever;

That honor, fame and virtue, too,
May deck your brow forever.
And still as free

1859.

My heart shall be,

To feel for those who love me;

Still wishes true,

I'll keep for you,

Whatever sky's above me.

LINES.

I struggle with each gloomy thought
That now pervades my breast,
And in my heart I wonder why

I cannot be at rest.

I call upon this heart of mine
To cast all care away,

But heedless of each effort made,
It never will be gay.

I see around me sparkling eyes,
I mark each passing hour,
As pleasure glides with easy flow
Cheer'd on by beauty's power.
I wonder, then, why hearts so true
Should twine a wreath for me,
And I be not allowed to see

The joys which others see.

Perhaps those hearts are free from guile,

As they are free from care;
Perhaps they are too pure and true
To harbor sorrows there.

Then let the crystal cup be filled,
And fountain sparkle bright,

For look, nor word, nor thought of mine
Shall banish their delight.

Now, onward moves the rushing tide.
Of time and pleasure too;

The cup is filled with precious gems
And decked with garlands new.
But, ah! the gems of pleasure's cup
Will soon drop fast away,

And hearts that would be true at all
Must be more true than they.

Then seek, my soul, some lonely place,
Where sorrow's footsteps fall;

Where echoes ring, and hearts are moved
To weep at mercy's call.

Where shadows linger all the day,

Where love and sorrow meet;

Where pity's eye is dimmed with tears

There fix thy dwelling seat.

Let stricken souls thy kindred be,

Let higher hopes be thine,

Than worthless gems that soon will fade, Though they in luster shine.

Thy web of love be wove in gloom,

All brighter it will be

When days shall come of "milder beam"
And calm life's troubled sea.

The plant that's reared 'mid Alpine rocks
When wails the winter's blast-

That braves the tempest's murd'rous shocksWill stand when winter's past.

And love that stands the chilling breath

Of sorrow's rudest day,

Will wear a fadeless laurel, when

1859.

Those sorrows flee away.

COULD I HAVE KNOWN.

Could I have known in early youth, When dreams and visions bright

Oft charmed away the hours by day And starred the darkest night,

How soon the gilded scene would fade, How soon the touch of sorrow's shade Would rend the calm that hope had made, I should have prayed some friendly power, With suppliant faith and tears,

To hold entranced the passing hour,
And stay the tide of years.

Could I have known that friendship's pledge And every kindly token